


Umbrella City

by Zas (fluxfiction)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Bathrooms, Character Study, Confused Boners, F/M, Skinship, accidentally explains how adopted siblings nerokiri started dating, casual nudity, vergil deserves affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 18:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18970981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluxfiction/pseuds/Zas
Summary: It was a fact of life, as sure as the sun shone its light on the moon, that girls were gorgeous when they were sitting in bathtubs.(Or; Nero, Vergil concluded, had a shocking collection of shirts only topped by his terrible choice in underwear.)





	Umbrella City

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thekuroiookami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekuroiookami/gifts).



Nero, Vergil concluded, had a shocking collection of shirts only topped by his terrible choice in underwear. Vergil picked at the neon band wrapped around the black briefs from where it peeked out from the bundle of clothing. He didn't say anything but Kyrie still noticed his disdain.

"Not good?" she asked.

Vergil looked at her, this woman who was the girlfriend of his son.

"... No." Contrary to belief, Vergil _did_ possess the ability to set aside his pride without needing to be sliced and diced. Kyrie's hazel eyes, dashed with worry, was cutting enough, and that said nothing for the little pout flickering at the corner of her full lips. Vergil swallowed. "No. It's fine. Thank you for everything you have done."

"No, no," and Kyrie waved him off, "you are not allowed to say thanks like _that._ "

Vergil blinked. "Thank you for your aid?"

When Kyrie very bodily turned him around, reaching around to his front to remove his coat, he realised it must have looked strange to a human that he saw no major discomfort from being wet. After walking through a storm for half an hour. A storm so heavy that there were buses cancelled and accidents on the freeway. In his perspective, it was nothing compared to being in the Underworld, where even breathing had hurt through his broken heart and time had frozen, going grey.

She huffed. "You're almost as bad as Nero!"

Well. If Vergil felt like he was being dissected beneath a microscope, he wondered how Nero handled Kyrie. Maybe his son was with this woman because he liked being in pain?

For all the frustration in her words, her hands were gentle. Her fingers took care as they smoothed over the leather, minding the creases and folds. Were it anyone but her taking his jacket, and then unbuttoning his vest, he would have thrown them for daring to touch what few belongings he kept dear.

Once the vest slipped off his shoulders, she stopped. "You alright just to shower?" she asked. Vergil nodded. She gestured to the bathroom. "Go ahead. I'll take care of these for you."

Vergil nodded again.

The bathroom at Nero and Kyrie's apartment was of a decent size. Not too small, two railings for towels, and plenty of surfaces for placing items or hanging items of clothing. Yet when he pushed the door open and went inside, the air was warm and the bathtub was filled. He paused, not quite sure what that meant. Distantly he heard the sounds of Kyrie opening some cupboards and hanging his leather clothing to dry. In the span of time it took to place the bundled clothing aside, he remembered her asking him to use the shower, so went ahead.

He'd just soaped up his shoulders when the door opened and Kyrie walked in.

Now Vergil had been in the aforementioned Underworld, fought beasts and monsters, tried to end his own brother multiple times, (almost) tried to end the entire world, and stabbed multiple people including but not limited to stealing his son's arm, which meant he considered himself quite experienced in matters of blood. What he had _not_ experienced during every one of those encounters was the casual ease of someone interrupting him whilst he was naked.

Vergil didn't jump, mind you, but his breath certainly did become confused about what to do in his breathing cycle next.

Kyrie paused—very visibly—and raised a hand to her mouth to hide a gasp. She must have heard him since she hadn't looked towards the shower yet. "Oh, I'm so sorry." She backed out of the bathroom and closed the door, keeping it open a slight sliver. "You see, Nero said to me you were family, so I thought ..."

Her words trailed off. Vergil turned off the water. "Thought?"

"Well," she paused for a moment, "It's normal in our house to use the bathroom together. One can share closer conversations, there's no shame in the human body, and ... I guess I assumed. Dante didn't mind when I was cleaning."

The mention of _Dante_ had Vergil twitch. But Vergil told himself he didn't care that much about his brother, or his brother's opinions, because who could seriously believe someone who thought pizza was appropriate to eat for every meal of every day?

No, the reason that Vergil said, "I do not mind," was because the bath she'd prepared for herself was still warm. He was not ashamed of his looks or his body. He certainly believed himself to be in a time where he was beyond that. But wasting hot water? _Irredeemable._

There was no hot bathwater in the Underworld.

She started removing her clothes, and there was nothing sensual or sexual about that either. His gaze did not linger on her fingers as she fiddled with her zippers, nor did he watch the faint shifting of her breasts as she loosened her skin-toned bra before placing that carefully to the side where her dress lay. It was just an ordinary act of his son's girlfriend taking off her clothes ... in front of somebody.

Vergil made sure to turn his body away from her as he finished his shower. She was in the bath by the time he stepped out to grab the towel, and he noticed out of the side of his vision that she wasn't facing him. Submerged to her chest, legs tucked up, the aura of calmness exuded by the back of her neck and her bare shoulders drew him in, a dragonfly to still water.

He forced himself to ignore it and move on. Once he started wearing the borrowed clothes, however, he quickly discovered they didn't only just _look_ bad, but they were made of a cheap cotton which irritated his skin used to better things. The shirt, white with an inked skull printed on the front, was the exact kind of ill-fitting band shirt which meant nothing to anyone who didn't care about the performance. The underwear with its neon blue waistband rubbed at him whenever he moved.

He'd just towelled his hair dry when he heard a satisfied noise, soft and feminine. Vergil stilled, sensing danger. Kyrie sighed and there was the splash of moving water.

"I'm glad," she admitted.

Vergil stopped to assess if he could leave without responding to that one. "... Glad?"

"Mm," she said. "Wanted to talk to you for a while. Nero said you were his father?"

His chest tightened. "... I am."

When the silence returned, bringing with it the sense of distance, Vergil waited until it seemed to go for too long for a human. Had she fallen asleep? He turned around.

Kyrie lay curled on her side, looking at him. His heart jumped into his throat. He twisted the towel with inward curses when he noticed his shoulders were starting to sweat. He was—he was _forty_ , with a son of _marriageable age!_ Inconceivable, the implications of nerves ... it must be the steam.

Distinctly awkward, Vergil jumped to the first subject he managed. "Did you do this with Nero?"

She nodded. "Since we were kids. All up until he got into that ... incident, where his arm changed. Then not until he told me he liked me." As she spoke, her legs shifted, making sounds in the water that went straight to the friction in the borrowed briefs. Vergil, who did in fact live through puberty once, suddenly wondered if his son's desire for this human woman had been to do with avoiding her during hormone season. Kyrie suddenly turned back to watch the wall. "I don't really know how I went out with him. Well, he told me he had feelings. And we're not related by blood, right? It's fine." She paused. "Dante asked me that, too."

"I'm not _Dante,_ " said Vergil, perhaps a little too coldly.

She either didn't notice it, or ignored it. "Exactly! You're very different."

This situation had continued for too long, his danger sense alerted. His stomach tightened and a haze of some kind slipped over his focus, atop the heavy feeling settling in his gut. The warm air dried his lips. He licked them and swallowed.

He made to leave. Used to wearing boots, his footfalls were louder than they should have been. He heard her voice behind him.

"Will you stay?"

Vergil was a man who fell into and escaped the deepest pits of the Underworld. He had fought his brother, tried to take upon himself the power of his blood relatives to make up for the power he did not have. He cut his brother's hand so that he wouldn't bring suffering to another. He had returned from Hell, went back to Hell, and then returned once more.

And Vergil was also a man who found himself taking a seat on the footstool beside the bathtub, reaching out to hold her hand. Her fingers were slim and her skin was smooth. Later he would think about this impulsiveness, so out of character.

(Then he'd think about the look in her eyes and think that, yes. Some avenues in his pursuit of power did sit high enough on the impulsivity scale for him to be classified as an impulsive person.)

The itching in his borrowed track pants, however, didn't get any better. He adjusted his sitting position. At least that item of Nero's clothing was baggy on him.

Kyrie traced his fingers. "I'm worried about Nero. He always goes out and comes back hurt ... he likes what he does, but ..."

"That is his line of business."

"I know." She withdrew her hands to splash at her face. Vergil looked at the shower. A faint sniffling note entered her voice. "It just ... I won't ask you to look after him. I just worry about him."

He remembered the moment he was finally given a weapon. Sparda calling the twins together, Eva watching worriedly as he bestowed them their swords. _Rebellion_ , thrumming with power in every one of Dante's swings, and the _Yamato_ , longer than his body and seemingly impossible to master at so young. He remembered being content and still wishing for more.

She made a soothing noise. "And ... I wish you would open yourself up a little. It's hurting him, it's hurting you, and ..."

The back of her fingers brushed across his forehead. A need stirred low in his body, just behind his hips. His lips parted before he noticed the urge. Then he noticed and breathed through his mouth, carefully clenching his abdomen before his decisions became irreversible. In the same action, his hand reached out to grab hers again, the feeling in his face frowning and stony.

Their eyes met—her hazel startled, him ... not wanting to know what she might have been seeing.

"Don't hide," she whispered. "Not behind all those layers. Please."

It was a fact of life, as sure as the sun shone its light on the moon, that girls were gorgeous when they were sitting in bathtubs. Vergil was aged, like the romantic notion of aging wine not meant to last; this misunderstood majority, vintage with a short shelf life. It was inherently wrong, disgusting, for him to read eroticism in a context where there should have been nothing. More proof of his weakness. She was the girlfriend of his son.

Vergil focused on that. Slowly, willing himself back into calmness, he pulled his excitement back under control. He should not have taken that seat. He released her.

Kyrie tucked her fingers together and smiled.

"Thank you," she said.

Vergil lifted his head the smallest amount. "What for?"

Her smile widened, flickering into quiet humour, a secret shared between them both. "Being yourself, Vergil."

* * *

Kyrie handed over a bundle of his own clothes, dried and folded, and the small folder which he'd come to retrieve. She didn't touch him nor did she cross into his personal space. Vergil understood it as a sign not to mention the time they spent exposed.

He changed out of Nero's clothes. He put his layers back on. His shirt was zipped up to his neck. The vest, buttoned. His sleeves pulled through his coat. Every strap on his boots clipped into careful position.

She gave him something else.

He looked at the umbrella and then out the window as if he'd never seen rain before.

"Thank you," he began, then hesitated, awkwardly. "I ... my foolishness should not—"

Kyrie shook her head and gestured in an abortive motion. "Don't do that. You're allowed to feel." For an instant, he wondered if she was going to reach further until she touched over his heart, but she did not. "With things like this you shouldn't have to give people a reason."

Outside, Vergil opened the umbrella with clumsy fingers unused to the little mechanical hinges. He lifted it above his head, walking into the storm, protected by that thin layer of fabric. No wonder Nero had fallen for that woman with such a warm heart.

Nero really was Vergil's son.

**Author's Note:**

> By request. Anyway, join the Vergil/Nero/Kyrie bandwagon ... :)
> 
> top level pseud [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluxfiction)


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